With surprising strength, the man ripped the picture from August’s grip, those green eyes narrowing at him. “You’restilla fucking prick. This isa model from my class, but I understand where you might be confused. Something isn’t about you, and that doesn’t compute in your fat head.”
August opened his mouth to respond, but the words wouldn’t come. A strange jolt of déjà vu washed over him, though he couldn’t place why. Before he could gather his thoughts, Paisley and the rest of the media team came rushing back—this time with security in tow.
“How did this guy get back here?” August turned on the security guards. “He’s been following me. I had him kicked out a few weeks ago. Maybe you should call the cops.”
Instead of looking scared, the stranger laughed. He shoved his ruined drawings into his bag, which now had a broken strap, and pulled a visitor ID from his pocket, thrusting it at the security guy when he reached for him.
“Uh, Mr. Snow, this is—”
“Quinn!”
August looked up at his captain’s voice. The man was rushing down the chute in full practice gear, helmet off, and his blond hair wild as his eyes. He stopped in front of the stranger, using his body to block the smaller man from August, the media team and the security guard.
“Are you okay?” Callahan asked. “What happened?”
“It’s fine,” the stranger said. “I wasn’t watching where I was going, and I was texting while walking. The worst damage is my sketchbook.”
Callahan nodded and then went motionless when he finally spotted the blood. Throwing his gloves down, he took the man’s head in his hands to hold him steady.
“Parker, go grab Yusef, please.”
Oh, yeah. That was the media girl’s name.
The woman in question took off towards the medical team’s office, distracting August from the angry approach of his captain, giving him no time to react before he was shoved and pinned against the opposite wall by the front of his shirt.
“What did you do to him?”
August scowled, pushing Callahan away. “Dude, frig off. I thought he was following me. He’s been here constantly.”
“So, youattackedhim?”
“I crashed into him!” August insisted, still feeling utterly confused by the situation. “What’s your boyfriend even doing back here? Is he too good to sit in the stands with the WAGs?”
Callahan’s jaw twitched, and he opened his mouth to retort, but the stranger, Quinn, threw his hands up.
“As much as I’m sure the people on the internet would love this toxic display of masculinity, I’m not one of them.” He thrust his hand into his pocket and then pulled it out, handing Callahan a pill bottle.
“There you go. I have to get to class.”
Quinn made to turn away but hesitated, looking up at August with green eyes as bright as poison. “Andyou, get a fucking grip. You may be the size of a house, but you’re nowhere on my radar. Not then, and not now.”
Quinn let the security guard lead him away, not escorting him out, but trying to bring him to where the team medic was hurrying toward them.
“Get your head checked out!” Callahan called after him.
“Kiss my ass, Callahan!” Quinn called back.
When they disappeared, Callahan turned and walked to the locker room without sparing August another word.
August groaned and followed with a strange, untethered feeling settling in his chest.
Another brutal practice, but August managed to get a top-shelf goal past their rookie backup goaltender, Haas. He took that as a win, and he left the ice feeling better than he had in ages. That was until Coach popped his head into the locker room before August had time to undress.
“Snow, my office.”
August quickly removed the rest of his gear while glancing at Niko, pulling on his sweats for his cooldown and hurried after Coach. He stood in the doorway to the man’s office, hesitating.
“You afraid, Snow? Shut door, sit down.”
